


Cocktail Hour

by Nicola Mody (Vilakins)



Category: Blake's 7, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Humour, Post Gauda Prime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-26
Updated: 2010-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vilakins/pseuds/Nicola%20Mody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vila Restal walks into a bar and meets... Acastus Kolya!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cocktail Hour

  


Vila paused just inside the door and looked around the bar. The Mistaken Pilot was obviously going for the cosy pub look with its dark panelled walls and fake-old prints showing various vintage (or soon to be vintage) spaceships in sepia. There was even one of a Wanderer class, and Vila pulled a face. Not so romantically nostalgic when you had to get around in one of those rust-buckets. Tarrant might like this place. On the other hand, maybe he wouldn't. The name might remind him of Gauda Prime, and not even Tarrant deserved that.

There were two or three empty stools at the bar; Vila chose one beside a ramrod-straight man who was unmistakably military despite the civvies and ordered a Slingshot Manoeuvre. "Extra fruit and one of those little paper umbrellas, please." Vila stole a glance at the military bloke to his left while the barman made the cocktail, and caught a look of cold disdain. He smiled blithely to himself as he took his drink.

"What," said the man on his left, "is the paper shade for?"

_Makes me feel all holidayish, mate_. Vila gave him another sideways look. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No. I am Genii."

"Pleased to meet you, Gen. I'm Vila." Vila held out his hand, which was met only by another chilly look.

"Genii is my _race_. My _name_ is Acastus Kolya." The fellow glared straight ahead, probably annoyed that he'd said that much.

"Sorry, Kaz."

"Kolya to you."

"Never heard of 'em, the Jennies, I mean. Do they have to bury you lot in a bucket?" Vila asked with interest.

Kolya's face went all long and cold like Avon's at hs most supercilious. "I am not an Andromedan. I come from another galaxy."

"Pull the other one." Vila ate the orange slice decorating the edge of his glass.

"The other what?"

"How'd you get here then?"

"Through a gate. A stargate."

Vila grinned to himself; the bloke was getting a bit hot under his stiff collar. "Didn't think they had any of those left. I mean, we destroyed them all to keep the 'orrible Awry out." (At least that was the way Vila spelled it in his head.) He twirled in a complete circle on his stool, taking the opportunity to smile and lift his glass to a beautiful young woman sitting in a corner. "Anyway, knew you had to come from a long way off, not knowing about these." He lifted the little pink paper umbrella and pursed his lips and waited. For several seconds.

Then Kolya said heavily. "All right. What is its function?"

"'S a weapon, innit."

"A weapon."

_If looks could kill et cetera et cetera._ "Oh, yes. One little scratch from the tip of one of these and you're out."

"You mean it's poisoned?" Kolya leaned slightly away from Vila and his pink umbrella.

"Not _fatally_. It's for bar fights, see? Most of the combatants end up non if you see what I mean, and it's easy for the bouncers to drag 'em out to wake up outside. Works well. And I like to err on the side of caution, me." Vila stirred his drink with his straw, mixing the violet, black, blue, and fiery orange into a glittering melange of colour, and finished it off. He beckoned to the barman. "Another two, and an umbrella in each, please."

"Do you plan on being here long?"

"Why?" Vila gave Kolya his most innocent look.

"I am meeting someone."

"Someone you know?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, could be me, couldn't it."

"That is unlikely. She is a woman."

"Ah." Vila tapped the side of his nose. "But I could be checking you out before she gets here."

Kolya frowned. "Are you on Commissioner Sleer's staff?"

"Sleer!" Vila's eyes widened. "You're living dangerously."

"What do you mean?"

"Werl, Snakey Sleer, come on! I mean, you know who she really is, don't you? Or maybe you don't, not being from around here."

Kolya grabbed Vila's arm, hard. "Explain."

"Hey, watch it!" Vila brought up an umbrella in defence, this one a jaunty turquoise, and Kolya pulled his hand back smartly. "You know who the last president was, right?"

"Servalan?"

"Right. Let's put it this way: those two have never been in the same room together, though I can't say the same about their skin."

"Sleer is ex-President Servalan?"

"Got it in one. And you're a brave chap, dealing with her." Vila sipped his cocktail contemplatively. "S'pose she's got her eye on your galaxy since she lost a good chunk of this one."

Kolya did not look happy.

"Anyway, look at the time, must be going." Vila slid off his stool and made his way towards the beautiful young woman in the corner, a cocktail in each hand, and a smile on his face.

As he left, he heard Kolya ordering a cocktail with all the trimmings.

 

She had dressed down for the occasion, Vila noticed as he leaned back into the shadows, evening gowns not being normal attire at the Mistaken Pilot. Servalan was in a soft black tunic and trousers accessorised with two matched bodyguards who entered with her and went to opposite ends of the bar as if they had nothing to do with her. However, like Kolya, they couldn't disguise their basic natures and to Vila they had FEDERATION TROOPER written all over them in that square military stencilly font. Good old Rodney. Looks like he was right.

Vila watched with interest as Servalan and Kolya began to talk, at first coolly, then with rising heat until Servalan got to her four-inch stiletto heels and drew a very small black and silver gun. Kolya was faster however--as was Dayna with her latest gun in the dark corner next to Vila--and Servalan stood there looking down with outrage at the orange umbrella quivering upside-down in her arm. Then she dropped her gun and lifted a puzzled forefinger as she slid slowly to the floor while her bodyguards slumped in unison over the counter.

"Oh dear," Vila said disapprovingly. "Shocking the way some people can't hold their drink."

"Just as well it's the last one they'll ever have," said Dayna, putting her gun away.

Kolya, leaving with a studied (but failing) casualness, gave Vila a respectful nod as he passed. _Probably armed to the teeth with paper umbrellas by now_, Vila thought. Lucky he wouldn't be around when Kolya tried to use one again.

Dayna frowned. "I'd like to have done it face-to-face though."

"Nah, it fits. Your father never saw it coming, and neither did she."

Dayna's smile seemed to light up the shadowed corner. "We make a good team, you and me."

Vila lifted his glass to touch hers. "We do!"

  



End file.
